


Hurt

by gotham_ruaidh



Series: Gotham Writes for Imagine Claire & Jamie [113]
Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 13:09:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17663258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gotham_ruaidh/pseuds/gotham_ruaidh
Summary: Imagine if Claire gets in between Jamie and Dougal in the midst of anger and Jamie accidentally hurts Claire





	Hurt

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted at [Imagine Claire & Jamie](https://imagineclaireandjamie.tumblr.com/post/182527974875/imagine-if-claire-gets-in-between-jamie-and-dougal) on tumblr

Dougal counted the money Rupert and Ned had gathered in the tavern, his smile widening with each coin dropped into the small bag.

Jamie sat ramrod straight, naked from the waist up, back heaving, the ugly twists of his scars catching the firelight.

Across the tavern, Claire clutched her tankard of ale, feeling slightly sick at what had just transpired.

“That’s all of it,” Ned reported quietly.

“Aye, well enough.” Dougal tied the string to seal the bag. “It’s not a great deal, but we can’t expect much from a small place like this. Still it’s a respectable sum. And with young Jamie’s back to show – that’s money in the bank guaranteed.”

Perhaps it was the ale. Or the fact that she hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks, shivering on the moors surrounded by a dozen stinking men. Or the bile rising in her throat from a desire to defend Jamie’s privacy – this man who never wanted anyone’s pity for what had happened to him. Or the aching desire to go home – go back to the stones, go back to Frank. Or the long-simmering desire to just smack Dougal MacKenzie in the mouth.

But Claire Beauchamp had had enough.

Dougal bent to retrieve Jamie’s ruined shirt, then threw it at Claire’s feet.

“Be a good lass – get ye a needle and thread, and mend that.”

She set her chin, picked up the shirt, walked straight up to Dougal, and in a single motion threw the shirt at his chest and her half-empty tankard of ale in his face.

“Mend it yourself,” she hissed.

For a long, horrific second nothing happened. Only when Willie told her the next day what he’d seen from his vantage point did she understand the correct sequence of events.

Dougal roared with fury – his breath stale and hot in her face, veins bulging thick on his forehead.

Jamie a blur between them, one hand pushing her hard in the sternum, one fist crunching against his uncle’s jaw.

Dougal’s own fist scrabbled in the air as Claire spun away – and Jamie’s punch, meant for Dougal, knocked her unconscious against the stone fireplace.

When she woke with a start, head pounding, she rolled to her side and vomited.

“ _Seas_ , lass.” Gently Willie pulled back her hair, while Angus held a bucket. “Get it all out.”

She spat to clear her palate, then gratefully took the waterskin Angus offered. She wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve, finally taking stock of her surroundings.

“We’re in the room above the tavern,” Willie explained. “It’s mid-morning. Ye’ve been out cold since last night.”

“Aye,” Angus added, picking the inside of his ear with his pinky. “Jamie was afraid he’d kilt ye, only ye were still breathin’.”

“Where’s Jamie?” she croaked.

“He slept wi’ the horses last night. After ye fell to the ground, he and Dougal stopped trading blows and he carried ye up here.”

Claire sat up a bit straighter against the headboard. “May I see him, please?”

“Aye – I’ll go fetch him.” Angus gingerly picked up the bucket and toddled out of the room, leaving the door open while Willie helped Claire sip more water, all the while quietly updating her on the evening’s events.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs – and Jamie was there, dark smudges beneath his eyes, and a mighty knot on his forehead.

Quietly Willie stood and slipped out of the room – leaving them alone.

Jamie remained firmly in the doorway, watching her. Below and outside came the sounds of the tavern keeper cleaning tankards, and horses whinnying, and men shouting in Gaelic.

Claire swallowed. “Looks like someone fixed your shirt,” she remarked.

“I mended it myself,” he replied quietly. “I’ve always had a good hand wi’ needle and thread. Wi’ the clicketing, too.”

Nervously Claire touched the huge bump on her jaw. “Do you mean knitting? I’ve never met a man who can knit before.”

A ghost of a smile teased the corners of his mouth. “And I’ve never met a woman who can’t.” He sighed. “Are you all right, Sassenach?”

“I’ll be fine.” She returned the smile, but her heart sank as his face tightened with sadness.

“I’m so very, very sorry what happened.”

“Jamie – I know you didn’t mean to – ”

“I’m no’ apologizing for hitting my uncle – he is an idiot, and he deserved what he got, for trying to attack ye, even if what ye did wasna exactly the best way to deal wi’ the situation. But to know that I hurt you – ”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You had no idea that would happen. I’m fine – truly. Just a massive headache.”

He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, the tail of his kilt swaying a bit behind his legs. “I ken. I’ve had one or two bad head injuries myself. Did ye throw up yet?”

She tried another small smile. “I did.”

He echoed it. “Good. Ye’ll be fine. I’ve told Dougal we’re to remain here all day, and go back on the road first light tomorrow. Do ye want anything from downstairs?”

“Not yet, thank you. To be honest, I really don’t want to see Dougal again.”

He took a step into the room, then remembered himself.

“I vowed to ye, Claire – ye need not be scairt of me, or anyone else. I can put ye under my protection.”

He meant it, she knew. How happily he shouldered that responsibility.

“I’ll be all right. Just need to rest a bit more. I’ll try to come down this afternoon.”

“As ye say.” He smiled one last time, then swept the door closed behind him, footsteps echoing down the stairwell.

Claire loosened her tight grip on the quilt, and let out the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.


End file.
